


I Am Not A Robot

by orphan_account



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor Smokes, Connor whump, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Explicit Language, Father-Son Relationship, How Do I Tag, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I DIDN'T THINK THAT WAS GONNA BE A TAG LMAO, I Don't Even Know, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Kinda, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poor Connor, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Secret Identity, Twink Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Uhhhh fuck, What Have I Done, Youtuber AU, and likes tequila shots, but then i added angst for a plot, but they're all wild, cause i dreamt it once, chloe's fucking wild y'all, connor's a party boy, five of them, he's also hurt, i gave Connor pink hair, i'll add characters as i go - Freeform, livestreams, maybe six?, my OCs are pretty nice, not entirely sure where this is gonna go, shit yall, summaries are hard, take it or leave it, thanks for that Bryan, the original characters are there, there's like, this literally started off as crack in my head, uhhhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-29 22:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15738300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Connor's just a normal, ordinary RK800 who lives with his partner and his dog and works at the DPD.Except when he's not.--Literally just Connor and some friends being late night clubbers who stream it all with an angsty plot to remember. This was supposed to be just crack but then I got serious.





	I Am Not A Robot

**Author's Note:**

> Title from song by the same name by Marina and The Diamonds
> 
> Should I be working on that AH fic? Yes, yes I should. But I've had this sitting in my drafts since last month and I'm already working on two more DBH fics. I was just in a fuckit mood and now I'm posting everything I have written so expect another DBH fic upload later tonight. I also haven't written the first real chapter for this yet and school's about to start so we'll see how updates go.
> 
> AO3 doesn't like indents but I got them in anyway. My writing is also super janky cause I haven't written in a while but next part should be better. I also spent forever going back and editing things and changing stuff before I just said screw it and threw this out here. If you see any mistakes please don't hesitate to point them out and if it sounds like something doesn't flow well lemme know and I'll fix it.
> 
> Anyway, this is just some angst for now. Chapter 1 is gonna be much lighter.

              Sunlight filters through the blinds in the window.

              It leaves strips of light across the floor, the bed, his skin, stretching back to stroke the room’s wall. The blanket covering him is an unnecessary thing, given him by humans by reflex, same as the thin white gown covering his body.

              Machines don’t get hot or cold, nor do they have a sense of shame when it comes to their bodies.

              Machines aren’t supposed to feel pain either.

              ( _But you’re not a machine anymore, are you?)_

              The door clicks open and Connor blinks, light catching in his lashes as he realizes he’s been staring out the window for the past fifteen minutes, fist clenching the blanket like a lifeline. He lets go as a switch is flicked and the blinds rise, letting in the full morning sunlight. It lights the rest of his modest room, revealing nothing but the bed he sits in and the machines around it; including the IV drip steadily pumping thirium into his artificial veins. The light illuminates the solitary chair facing his bed beside the door, the hard white plastic standing out against the walls painted a deep blue. White and blue like the plastic of his body and the thirium in his veins, being fed into him, keeping him alive, splattered on the walls, leaking out of him, and pooling around his body as he slowly goes cold, cold, _cold it’s so cold not the cold it hurts stop_ —

              “Connor.”

              Brown eyes flutter.

              He’s still staring out the window, head turned to face it as much as he can, torso turned just slightly to alleviate the strain on his neck. His hand is fisted in the blanket once again, though he glances down and notices his skin has retreated, white plastic glaring back at him. Immediately he forces the skin back, tan and smooth, unmarred and perfect. He knows that only hours before it would’ve been a mangled mess, if he had bones like a human they’d be shattered and tearing through his skin like sharp teeth through bloody gums.

              His gaze goes back to the window.

              There’s a bush of roses in front of his window, fully bloomed and almost beautiful. He’s come to learn that he can’t appreciate roses anymore, not without being reminded of _her_ and the garden that became a blizzard and life or death and crawling through ice and snow and wind that was so strong it could’ve blown him away, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t give up or everything would’ve been for _nothing_ and it would’ve been _all his fault_ —

              “C’mon, kid.”

              Oh, right. Connor opens his eyes ( _when did he close them?_ ) and remembers the lieutenant, Hank, he’s here isn’t he? That would explain the blinds wouldn’t it? Judging by the scraping sounds he vaguely remembers hearing, Hank’s taken the solitary chair and pushed it so that he’s right beside the bed, facing the back of Connor’s head. The back of his head because the android is still facing the window, unmoving and silent.

              He should turn around. Say something to Hank, to this man who’s lost so much and almost lost even more and deserves better than Connor ignoring him in favor of—of—of _what?_ Of the nothing he’s looking at out the window, staring and staring as if it held everything he could ever want and more.

              There’s nothing but he doesn’t want to look away and he’s not sure why. Hasn’t been sure of much since he became deviant, still figuring out emotions and deciphering each one, stumbling and falling at times like a newborn deer, just learning its first steps into the world.

              A bird flies by, the shadow flicking by and causing him to blink again, watching as it lands on the sill outside the window. A quick scan reveals it’s a crow, preening as it takes a moment to rest outside his window. How fitting that a crow would show up, he ponders. Any _before_. Perched high and watching the slaughter he had caused, had actively brought about where a murder of crows would’ve been fitting, perfect even. Would’ve been deserved, even, if they had swooped down to peck at him and pick him apart, punish him for all his sins and the pain he’s caused on others because he was so hellbent on his _stupid_ mission, on following his orders like a good little bot.

              “ _Connor._ ”

              He wonders if there were any _there._ When he was alone and so far gone that the pain that would’ve been excruciating, the damage debilitating, didn’t register anymore as he lay staring at the empty blackness of nothing and everything was muffled as if he were being held underwater. Felt as the force was brought back down on his chest, dangerously close to his thirium pump regulator, too close, _too close he still had a chance of surviving if he would just **stop please don’t do this**_ —

              “ _Son._ ”

              There’s a hand grasping his right wrist and Connor turns and lifts his head, realizing he was curled into himself, hands clutching the front of his gown. He was trembling, and his breaths were coming out in shuddery gasps, a warning informing him his stress levels were getting dangerously high.

_Hank._

              Right. He was here in this room and this bed with Hank and his gruff voice, the use of that word grounding Connor, helping him focus on the _here_ and the _now_. His blurred vision clears ( _was he crying?_ ) and he meets eyes so blue, so bright even in the man’s older age. Connor meets eyes so sad and full of guilt that he almost wants to curl back up and hide from the world.

              Connor doesn’t say anything, just stares and something dies in the man’s eyes when he sees how blank his face must be and he _hates_ that look on Hank’s face, hates that he’s the reason it’s there but he can’t even force anything else onto his face without it coming off as a grimace, so he lowers his head, looks down at his lap, presses his lips into a thin line. His hair, normally slicked back and well tamed is loose, curls hanging freely and partially hiding his face. There’s a sigh from his right and out of the corner of his eye he can see the lieutenant lower his head as well, hands coming to grip the guards on the sides of the bed as he releases Connor’s wrist.

              “Fuck Connor,” Hank starts off, seemingly grasping for words, for the right thing to say before he settles on apologies, sincere and guilt-ridden and promises of _I’ll fix this Connor, okay? Don’t worry everything will be okay we’ll sort all this shit out and you’re gonna be okay alright? You’ll be just fine, and the fucker will get what’s coming to him he won’t lay another finger on you won’t even breathe in your fuckin’ direction_ and on and on and on and Connor has to stop him when the man’s voice starts coming out choked and watery.

              Hank cuts himself off and raises his head when he feels a hand on his. He sees Connor facing him again, his right hand reached out and atop his left before he grasps it tightly, brown eyes never leaving blue. They stay like that for a moment, just staring at each other, blue and both eyes glass both as the brunet tells him in a quiet, hoarse voice, “I’m okay.”

              And something in Hank’s chest aches because this kid (because that’s what he is, no matter how much he looks like a man well into his twenties, he’s still _just a kid_ ) is trying so hard to be strong, to still act like nothing affects him and he’s perfectly fine, still a _machine_ when he’s _not_. Not with how hard he’s holding onto Hank’s hand that it’s almost painful, LED burning red and spinning nonstop just as it had been when he’d first stepped foot into the room. His voice is weak and subdued as he tries for a small smile that’s offset by the slight tremor to his body that has nothing to do with the temperature.

              “I’m okay.” He says it again, the tremor making itself present in his voice now, evidence that he is _not okay,_ but his gaze is steady and stays locked onto Hank’s eyes. “I’m okay.” He repeats, going quiet before saying it again until he’s repeating it like a mantra and his voice hitches, curling back into himself as his other fists into the front of his shirt again.

              Hank watches as Connor slowly falls apart before him, voice hitching and catching as it slowly dissolves in sobs (has he cried at all since it happened? Lamented over it and just let himself _feel_ at all?) until he can’t take it anymore. He stands from his chair and pulls Connor, his partner, his friend, his _son_ into a tight embrace, one hand buried in his hair and the other keeping him pulled close. Connor falls gladly, almost desperately, into the embrace, hands reaching out to clutch at the man’s shirt, his jacket, anything he can as he buries his face into Hank’s chest and sobs helplessly, still mouthing _I’m okay I’m okay I’m okay_.

              And Hank just continues to hold him, plants a kiss atop his head and tells him, “I got you.” as he rocks them gently back and forth. Because Connor is not okay, and something tells Hank he hasn’t been for a while, nor will he be anytime soon. But for now, he’ll hold him tight and shield him from the world. Connor’s not okay, hell _Hank’s_ not okay, but they’ll get there one day. Together, they’ll be okay. 

_“I got you.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Confused? Wondering what happened? Good, you should be.


End file.
